


Think of Me

by PotionsMistressM, Sanalith



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionsMistressM/pseuds/PotionsMistressM, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanalith/pseuds/Sanalith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold leaves to find Bae, but he can't go without saying goodbye.  Pre-Lacey.  We do not speak of Lacey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Think of Me  
>  **Word count:** 3237  
>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Amnesiac!Belle (pre-Lacey), Gold, Archie/ Rumbelle  
>  **Summary/Notes:** Written for a collaborative challenge at . I don't even remember if there was a prompt... First half (roughly) by Sanalith, the second half by PotionsMistressM.

Gold paced back and forth across his living room, hardly noticing the pain in his leg. He was due to meet the Savior in an hour, and then he would be on his way to finally, _finally_ reuniting with his son.

His Bae.

Just the thought left him short of breath. After three centuries of schemes and sacrifice, his dearest wish was coming true. He should be ecstatic. He should be over the moon. He should be planning exactly what to say, especially in which order all the apologies should come. There were so many, after all.

But there was one more task he had to complete before leaving Storybrooke, and the coward inside him was rearing its ugly head more forcefully than it had in years. He’d tried everything he could think of to calm himself, but even his spinning wheel had provided no relief. And now, with time running out, he had to pull himself together and just _do it_ , or he’d never be able to leave.

And so, he found himself back in the hospital, a single sheet of folded paper clutched tightly in his hand, staring down at the sleeping form of his True Love.

Gold hated himself for the brief spasm of relief that had spread through his chest when he’d entered her room to find her deep in slumber. Oh yes, he was still a coward to the core, no matter how he tried to mask it. But he was fully aware that he was in no shape to deal with the hatred he’d last seen in her eyes, as she’d shattered their talisman into tiny pieces. This was best, in the end.

He wanted to kiss her, perhaps for the last time, but he held himself back, remembering what an epic failure his last attempt had been. This wasn’t about him any longer, if it had ever truly been. This was about her and what she needed. At least with him in New York, she’d have space to relax and grow and learn about herself. He’d never be able to stay away otherwise.

Leaving her was one of the hardest things he’d ever forced himself to do, but it’s what his Belle would have wanted. He knew that.

Contenting himself with the barest brush of his fingers against her cheek, Gold whispered farewell.

It was time to find his son.

*************************************

The girl who was not Belle awoke the next morning to the sounds of shuffling near her ear, and she turned to find the hard-faced nurse placing a breakfast tray on her table.

“I’m not hungry,” she said automatically, her stomach rebelling at the merest thought of food. How could a person even consider eating in this state?

The nurse shrugged. “Makes no difference to me, but it’ll be better for you if you eat something. It’s not good to give you all that medication on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t want any more drugs, either,” she retorted sharply. It was about the only thing she _did_ know for sure!

“We’ll see,” was all the nurse said, and she walked out of the room, leaving the tray.

Heaving a sigh, the brunette turned her face away from the food, not even wanting to look at it, and found herself staring instead at a folded piece of paper on her bedside table. She frowned slightly, knowing it hadn’t been there when she went to sleep the previous night. It had been laid on top of the book she’d been reading…well, perhaps _trying_ to read was more accurate. It was hard to concentrate when all she could see were images of fireballs and shattered cups.

But there it was, with the name that was not _her_ name scrawled on the outside in an elegant, flourishing script.

She didn’t want to read it. It wasn’t addressed to her, whatever the person who wrote it may have thought, and she was so sick of that name that even seeing it made her stomach clench. But no matter how she tried, she simply couldn’t ignore it, and she supposed nothing written in it could make her feel any worse than she already did.

Sighing in resignation, she picked up the letter, unfolded it slowly, and began to read.

_My Darling Belle,_

_Please forgive me for addressing you so. I realize that you no longer wish to own that name, and that you’re currently incapable of accepting my affections, but I fear I’ve never been good at affecting titles. If you could only remember, you’d know that names are of particular importance to me. They have a very special power, one I would never take from you, even without your knowledge. You are Belle, you are my True Love, and thus I must name you, and beg forgiveness for it._

_In your current state, I know this will most likely bring you more relief than pain, but I must leave you for a time. It brings me no pleasure, and is in fact one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make, but it is perhaps for the best. I would no doubt smother you here, and after our last encounter, even I can acknowledge that what you need most right now is time. More than anything, I simply wanted to put this in writing so that, on the highly unlikely but of course miraculous chance that you regained your memory while I was away, you’d know I did not abandon you lightly._

_I’ve left to find my son. It was my mission when this abomination took place, and I know you would not want me to set aside my labor simply to stay here and watch over you from afar. You know his importance and you know how much I’ve sacrificed for his sake. Even in the old world, he always came first, and I lost you in order to keep the power I needed to complete this task. I’ve never forgiven myself for that, even though you somehow have. That is only one of example of how little I deserve you._

_You told me only a day ago that when I left, you would be here awaiting my return. You no longer remember that promise, but it’s one I shall hold you to in any case. As I said, I’ve done nothing to deserve your love and trust, but I will beg for it in any case. It was you who said that when you discover something – or someone – worth fighting for, you never give up. I will never stop fighting for you, sweetheart, just as I know you never stopped fighting for me. It might be a hopeless task, but I shall endeavor to make myself worthy of you. I swear it._

_I’ve done all I can to ensure your safety during my absence, but there are so many factors beyond my control – a fact which pains me greatly to admit – that I can only hope your stay in Storybrooke will be pleasant. No matter what your personal feelings toward me, I beg of you to tell me upon my return if you were in any way ill-treated. I will do everything in my power to right any wrongs on your behalf._

_I realize this may sound like any empty promise, considering how much I’ve wronged you already, but all I can say in my defense is that I never lied to you. As a voracious reader, you above all people should know that fact is nearly always stranger than fiction. Every word I spoke was true. You saw my power with your own eyes. It’s likely useless to tell you not to be afraid, but know at least that I would never, ever harm you. You are the light in my life. Nothing could ever change that._

_I’ve imposed upon you too long, and so I will simply close by once again begging you to wait for my return. I believe with every fiber of my being that there is still something of Belle left in you, and she is without fail the bravest woman that I have ever met. Face your fears as you always have before, and know that I will return home as soon as possible to face them with you._

_We shall conquer this, Belle, and even if you have no faith in me, have faith in yourself. It is nothing less than you deserve. Be safe, be well, and know that I am thinking of you every moment of every day._

_Ever your devoted,  
R. Gold_

The girl who was not Belle starred at the letter. She supplied the face of the man who’d written it, the man with the fireball and the chipped cup. The man with the desperate eyes and broken, hollow expression. She felt a pain deep in her chest that hadn’t been there before, and, distractedly, she wondered why. This letter was not for her. These memories, these emotions…they were meant for someone else. The poor man was just confused, or was projecting his pain and anguish onto her, perhaps for purposes of his own.

And yet, she couldn’t help feeling…something. Perhaps regret? Whoever Belle really was, she possessed in this man an ardent lover who clearly worshipped the ground upon which she walked, and who would do anything to ensure her safety and comfort. She was also apparently intelligent, well-read, and had a strength of mind and courage to be envied.

This Belle was everything she might have aspired to be, had she any sort of life of her own.

But she was not Belle, and no amount of flowery wording could make her so. She carefully folded up the letter and placed it in in the corner of her bedside table, hoping someone would take it from her when they next cleaned her room.

Closing her eyes, the girl who was not Belle drifted back into sleep, and if she dreamt of a dark castle ruled by a twittering sorcerer who spun gold from straw and came to love her with a devotion fiercer than she’d ever imagined….well. Dreams were only dreams.

Weren’t they?

*********************************************************************

She wasn't exactly sure how long she'd been crazy, but it had been a while. Every morning she was woken up by the smell of the bland hospital breakfast, and after choking down what she could of the wet, rubbery scrambled eggs (she'd been told more than once that she would never be released until she could be trusted to remember to feed herself regularly), she dressed in her shabby hospital-issue clothes, and made her way down to the waiting room where Matt and Savannah greeted her from the television like they did every morning. She smiled at some of the nurses ( _some_ of the nurses- the one with the strange hairdo and sharp, hard face caused a strange stab of fear to shoot through her veins), and she tried to skirt the gaze of the insistent stranger who kept trying to talk to her about fireballs and other impossibilities.

The thought of impossible things caused a strange twinge in the girl who wasn't Belle, and she stuck her clenched fist into the front pocket of her bathrobe as she curled her legs underneath her and settled in for a morning of disturbing headlines and idle chitchat with people who either had never known who she was or who she couldn't remember now. She looked up at the wall-mounted TV, but her mind remained focused on the now-worn sheet of paper she'd stuck in her robe pocket this morning before leaving her room. She gently ran her fingers over the rich-feeling stationery and let her mind drift. She still had no memory of the man who had written that letter, but having it with her somehow made her feel better, more in control. Almost... _brave._

_I believe with every fiber of my being that there is still something of Belle left in you, and she is without fail the bravest woman that I have ever met..._

But she wasn't brave. She wasn't anything, really. Every day the nurses would say, "good morning," and the girl would smile. She would be polite and act like she was fairly sure a sane person was supposed to act, but there was so very little underneath her smile and her manners. There was no telling exactly how many mornings she'd missed thanks to the sedatives, and with so many memories already wiped straight out of her head, the girl who wasn't brave- not really, not at all- was loathe to let the hospital staff steal any more moments from her with their needles. So now, no matter how her mind turned and twisted and churned with so many thoughts that came _so close_ to bringing her insight, she kept her face blank, her speech composed and logical. She denied all of those thoughts that she was almost sure would bring her closure, because apparently, seeing things like fireballs and golden men with pretty eyes and horrendous teeth- even just in dreams- was not a sign of increasing health but of madness, no matter how true they seemed to her. No, she wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been crazy, but it felt like a while, and it felt like this wasn't first time it had happened, either. So maybe it wasn't better to remember, after all.

*****************************************************

The girl who wasn't Belle ( _You are Belle, you are my True Love..._ ) was always happy to see Dr. Hopper who, though not technically her own doctor, would sometimes stop in to see her after his office hours to check up on her and bring her something greasily delicious from the little diner across from his office. He, it seemed, could very much appreciate her distaste for hospital food, and often surreptitiously smuggled the disgusting tapioca or gelled "fruit" cups out of her room in his briefcase so that the nurses would stop harping on her for starving herself. It was the best kind of day when Archie brought her hamburgers. She had no idea why, but they always tasted the best to her, and again, there was a thought _this close_ to popping up to the surface of her thoughts, but it faded just as quickly as it had materialized. It had nudged another thought into focus, and she absentmindedly stroked the pocket of her robe. She didn't take it off now, and if she did, she always found some other way to carry Mr. Gold's letter with her, the poor thing had even once been folded into a teeny tiny square and stuffed down the front of her bra on the day Housekeeping had deemed the robe to disgustingly dingy to wear any longer without a wash.

"Dr. Hopper?" she asked, tentatively, not sure what kind of a reaction she'd get and hoping against hope that he wouldn't call for the nurses and their needles. Seeing him nod jovially (it seemed he liked going to the diner as much as she enjoyed the food, only from what she could tell, it was a waitress and not the food he found so favorable), she took a deep breath and trudged on. "Can you tell me about Ru-" That was weird. For a second she had almost called Mr. Gold something strange. Thinking on it, she had no idea what that foreign name actually was, just that when she saw his face in her mind, that was the name that her tongue knew to say ( _If you could only remember, you’d know that names are of particular importance to me_ ) . Blushing and looking at her now-clenched hands in her lap, the girl corrected herself. "Can you tell me about Mr. Gold?"

Dr. Hopper looked at her intently. He had not missed the slip-up, but luckily he was not going to call for the strait-jacket just yet. He waited a split second to see if she'd say anything more, but upon her continued silence and earnest gaze, Archie gave a sort-of nervous-sounding little cough to clear his throat and tilted his head a little.

"What would you like to know about him?"

_Can he really throw fireballs? Is his skin now, or has it ever been, greenish-gold? Does he really love me? What's his first name? Does he live in a castle? Do I love him? What's the deal with the cup I threw at the wall? Why can't I remember him?_

"Anything you can tell me at all. I know he's out town right now, and I wasn't very kind to him the last time I saw him. I was hoping that even if I don't remember him the next time I see him, I could at least know enough of him to be civil." Even as she spoke the words, her heart beat faster. She felt like a traitor somehow, like she'd betrayed the poor man by not remembering him. Now she slipped her hand into the robe's pocket, and the feel of it their reassured her as nothing else could. He'd told her the cup was a talisman, but what kind of emotion could a cup possess? If anything this letter was a talisman, a constant and physical reminder that this man _loved her_. Or at least he thought he did.

"Well, Mr. Gold is a pawn broker. He has a little shop in town. He's also a business man. He owns most of Storybrooke..." Archie spread his hands and smiled at her, telegraphing the end of his summary of Gold. She knew that he had left a lot out. She knew that a lot of people didn't like or trust him; Ruby had inadvertently let that slip one night when she'd come to keep the patient company. Archie was trying to be kind to her, and she appreciated it, but Gold's profession hadn't really been at the top of her need-to-know list. The girl bit at her lower lip anxiously and took a deep breath. _You are the light in my life._

"Does... Does he love me? Really?" She looked up at the doctor and was immediately touched. Archie nodded, the kind of smile that looks almost pained spreading across his lips.

"Oh, Belle," he nearly whispered, breaking the cardinal rule of their meetings by calling her that name. His tone and expression made her forgive him immediately, however. "Belle... that man adores you. I never- not once- saw him smile before he met you." The girl smiled shyly but it soon broke into a full-blown grin, and she ducked her head a little so that her hair would hide her expression and her sudden blush from Archie.

"Thank you," she murmured, fingering the letter in her pocket with a kind of awed respect and a sweet tightness in her chest. Gold's love was only one part of the murky puzzle her mind wouldn't let her assemble, but Archie's assessment seemed to have cemented it in place. She may not know who she was, but she now knew, without a single doubt, that Gold loved her more than anyone else had ever loved her. Soon after the exchange Dr. Hopper excused himself, leaving the girl to drift off to sleep and back into the dream world where Gold actually was gold, where he laughed with her and teased her, where he bashfully handed her roses and watched her out of the corner of his eye when he thought she couldn't notice. All the while his voice echoed in her head, the words of his letter coming to life.

_Be safe, be well, and know that I am thinking of you every moment of every day._


End file.
